A humdrum life is peaceful,
When life is a perfect circle
From dawn to dusk to dawn again
Without incident or debacle.
But the thing with circles is,
More often than not,
They end up being downward spirals
That take you to a place
When nothing can jar you awake
Much like the cursed slumber
Of Aurora, the sleeping beauty.
No, I'm not talking of curses and spells
And other supernatural elements.
I still wake up everyday,
But I don't feel awake or alive.
I feel empty, like I'm trapped in a trance
And each day merges into another
Till nothing stands out
Or means anything at all.